


Burning Out

by thereisaredeemer



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Ending, Anger, Babies, Broken Families, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Gen, Hunting/skinning/gutting/cooking animals, Jealousy, Slow Emotional Healing, Wedding Planning, loyal friends, wedding ceremony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereisaredeemer/pseuds/thereisaredeemer
Summary: But even as I say it I remember who I am and what my track record is in these sorts of situations, and I wonder, will I regret my words? Because what I had with Gale before the Games and the war… it was something that betrayal shouldn't have been able to break...There is a teeny tiny chance that I'll write a sequel. But I probably won't.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen & OFC, Katniss Everdeen & OFC's Child(ren), Katniss Everdeen & Posy Hawthorne, Katniss Everdeen & Thom, Katniss Everdeen/Gale Hawthorne, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark, Thom/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My sister](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+sister).



> I wrote this for my sister as a birthday present (a very late one) because she is obsessed with all things Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay. Unlike her I don't like the books or movies. I have read the books, and watched bits and pieces of the movies, but not because I like them, only because she wanted me to. One of the reasons I dislike the story is because Gale's (my favorite character) character is so suddenly destroyed at the very end of Mockingjay. He is not in 2 kissing another set of lips! That goes against every other part of his character that Collins reveals. I will not accept it. This story is set right after the last chapter of Mockingjay. I am ignoring the Epilogue.  
> Criticism is very welcome; I want it and that is why I am posting this story instead of just handing it over to my little sister and saying, "Happy Birthday, I hope you enjoy this!". Please tell me if I have a fact wrong or if there are any typos. I want to give my sister the best that I can. I have tried my best to copy Collins' writing style. Is this age appropriate for a 12-year-old?  
> A note on the song, rights go to Brian Jacques, author of Mattimeo, though the last verse is mine.  
> A note on the bold print, rights go to Suzane Collins, author of Mockingjay.  
> This is crossposted on FFN.

Chapter 1 

**_Three years after Prim's death and the end of the war:_ **

**So after, when he asks, "You love me. Real or not real?"**

**I tell him. "Real."**

But even as I say it I remember who I am and what my track record is in these sorts of situations, and I wonder, _will I regret my words?_ Because what I had with Gale before the Games and the war… it was something that betrayal shouldn't have been able to break. That friendship and camaraderie had been unchanged in the face of famine and poverty. We had shared the little we had, even if it meant that one or both of us would go hungry, we had shared even if it meant our families would go hungry. We had risked our lives for our families, and each other, even when there had been the possibility that neither of us would come back.

I remember the time two years into our partnership when the fence had been on and Gale had sprained his ankle. There had been a tree above us and at fourteen I had been light enough to shimmy out on one of its slim branches and drop down on the other side of the fence. Gale had told me to go, but I had refused. _Why had I? Why had I risked discovery and execution, or at least a whipping? Why hadn't I obeyed Gale and slept safe at home in my bed? Why had I stayed and slept out in the woods with my friend?_ I had risked both our families losing their life-giving support to brave the cold autumn night with a friend. _Was it because I wanted to comfort him in his pain, or was it because my fourteen year old self had rather she died with her partner in crime than live knowing she hadn't been with him—even if her sister suffered?_

Just three years later, I lost Prim and I blamed him. The one whom I had been willing to put above her. _What had changed?_

I still hate Gale. I think I always will. This strange mid-night revelation doesn't change that. Somehow, though, telling Peeta I love him makes me realize and admit, I miss Gale. I hate him and I want to beat him to a pulp, I want to gut him like a wild dog, I want to torture him, and make him understand what he has done to me, but I miss _him_. Just _him—_ his confident understanding and knowledge of what makes me, _me (_ even if he he has used that to my disadvantage), and the rock beneath his personality's rebuffing exterior (I might disagree with him strongly, and I might feel betrayed by him, but I am never surprised by what he does, not really) that is unchanging. He is Gale Hawthorne, born, bred, and raised in the Seam, solid and unrelentingly loyal.

I roll away from Peeta's side as hot tears pour down my cheeks. War does strange things to a person, I should know! It turned me into a broken heap of terrified shards! It ripped what little innocence I had from my back and left me without my family. The sobs don't stop, the tears don't cease to run, the empty hole I had thought was closing is just as empty as before.

"Katniss?" Peeta whispers. But so quietly it sounds like _Catnip_.

Only _he_ called me that. My throat constricts and memories over power me and I scream, "No!" in his face at the top of my lungs. I ignore his worry; I don't want to cry for Gale in Peeta's arms. That would just be _wrong_.

I hate Gale, but… in 13 he treated me no differently than he treated his mother and siblings. He did to me what I did to Prim and my mother. He tried to protect me from what he knew would hurt me, what he knew would break me. He did it because he loved me. Yes, he should have known better, but he'd only made the same mistakes as I had. He had treated me like I was his family, like I was his sister or wife. Protecting me was as ingrained in him as protecting Prim was in me. I could see him now, lying in his bed gazing up at the ceiling remembering; parsing to pieces; understanding; wishing with all his heart he could go back and do things with a clearer mind. I have to remind myself how proud Gale is, how he's probably kissing another girl like he can't live without her, and how he's probably telling that girl how he had a chance at The Mockingjay and he prefers _her_ to the war hero and her bow.

The tears come uncontrollably now and they soak my pillow. The sobs wrack my chest and I can't seem to get enough air into my lungs. This isn't how this night was supposed to end. I was supposed to slip asleep in Peeta's arms and wake in the morning knowing irrevocably that I love him. Peeta says my name again—louder this time—he tries to shake me, tries to get me to speak to him, but for once I don't want his help. He can't fix this part of me. I push him away, slide out of bed, and throw on some clothes. He turns on the light, he tries to restrain me, but since when was he stronger than me when I wanted to be alone? Since when has he used his full strength on me? Never, and he doesn't start now. So despite his cries and pleas I flee out into the night. Somehow, hours later, I find myself in the woods at the old meeting place.

As I look around I find that it hasn't changed since I was last there. The berry bushes are still in their places—abet wilder and larger—and as it's early summer they're flowering. A robin sings a cheery tune nearby and a whippoorwill answers it. It's dawn. The first sunbeams are slowly lighting the woods and the valley before me is gorgeous. It reminds me of the many sunrises I have watched with Gale. For some reason though, I don't hate it. I'd like to believe it is because Prim used to say when she was little that she wanted to live in the sunrise when she grew up, or that it's because I can see the tint of orange that I know Peeta loves, but here with the birds and the sky I know I can't lie. It's because it doesn't remind me of the man Gale was during the war, I enjoy it because it reminds me of the one he was before.

I'm curled up on the rock shelf in such a way that I don't need Gale to fill any extra empty space. There isn't any. But his absence in my heart is far greater than his lack of physical presence. It feels wrong to be here without him. It feels sacrilegious to be here alone, to watch this sunrise without him. So staring out across the valley, I realize that while I might hate Gale, I haven't gotten out of the habit of loving him. But whether he's the brother I never had or the lover I turned away from in anger and confusion, I don't know.

I stand up stiffly and make my way back to the fence. I pause there out of habit and listen for the hum that will tell me that its alive, but it isn't. It's propped up with tree branches. I close my eyes and sink weakly against a tree. This place isn't good for me. Not without someone who understands. I don't open my eyes just yet, I still need to figure out what I'm going to tell Peeta. It's not like I can go up to him and say, "Hey Peeta, you know what? I'm still a pathetic teenager who can't figure out who she's in love with—if anyone."

In the end I realize that there is nothing I can say to him that would be nice. You just can't say you don't actually know if you love him to a guy who you've been leading on for years. It's an impossible situation, especially when I hate one of the men and the other is the one who has taken care of me for years.

I push off the tree, only to realize that it is the one that six years ago I refused to climb. I look down at myself and wonder how much those five years have changed me. It doesn't help to realize that I'm wearing my father's hunting jacket and my old boots. But I push past physical appearance and try for the first time to understand why Prim's death has affected me so much.

At first I try to analyze my emotions at the moment she died, but that doesn't help. Not at all. Then I look at what I have become after her death in comparison to what I was before. And I understand. It's not just that she was my sister, or that she was what I saw as the embodiment of my father, or that it was Gale who probably created to bomb, that destroyed me—though that was part of it— it was because the only reason I survived my childhood was because I had something to fight for. After my father died I didn't care to go on and neither did my mother, but I had refused to make that decision for Prim. In my first Games I fought for her. In the second Games I fought for Peeta because I owed him something intangible, love, and I was trying to repay it with life. In the war I fought for her and I fought for Peeta, but only because he was in the Capital's hands because of me—I was repaying a debt. _Why didn't I feel the need to repay Gale, he's done far more for me than Peeta ever can?_ I can't answer that, but I now know why I'm waning away, I have nothing left to fight for.

I walk away from the tree, unable to stand it anymore and find my way home. _Home? My home is burnt. I live in an abode. Without a family I have no home, home is where the heart is after all._

I sneak into the house and hang up my jacket. My shoes I stash in the hall. Then I find the bathroom and take a steaming shower. I don't even compare it to the Capital showers. Then I find my way to the dining room where Peeta sits hunched over a bowl eating. He looks up when I enter and I open my mouth try to give an explanation but he buts in.

"I know, Katniss. I know." Then he looks back down. As it turns out, Peeta's guessed what happened and when he looks up from the unusually meager breakfast he had prepared I see how worn out and weary he really truly is.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to understand the way you work. There are times when I think I have and then… then you just twist around and I'm…" he sighs, "He always understood you. Even when he hurt you he understood _why_ it hurt you."

He always did. Which is why everything hurts so badly. Gale did know, or should have known that his actions would hurt me. If he didn't, then…

Then he was too focused on himself and his agenda to be there for me. I know I was. And I wish I hadn't been.

"I'm sorry," is all I can say to Peeta, so I say it. What else is there to say?

"I know," Peeta murmurs dejectedly, "I know, but you shouldn't be. I think that's your problem, you can't stand to hurt me because if you do then you will owe me and you hate to owe anyone anything."

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but he shakes his head.

"Eat."

And I do.

The next day I wake early and go hunting. I check the snare-line out of habit and find them all empty, I haven't set them since I came back. I do so now. Then I begin my silent search for meat. By the time the sun has risen above the trees I have an exemplary catch for having hunted without a partner. For a moment I stare at all the meat. I don't need it and even with Haymitch and Peeta's large appetites it would take us weeks to go through this much.

I take it to Greasy Sae out of habit and silently volunteer to help her as she makes stew for the men and women who are working to make District 12 livable again.

She accepts my meat and help with a thankful grunt and sets me to chopping meat at a board which is crisscrossed with grooves from decades of use. Her granddaughter plays quietly nearby with the blue yarn I gave her last spring. Within minutes I fall into the old pattern, slice open the belly, scoop out the entrails, let the blood drain, yank the skin off easily, cut off the head, bone the game, chop it into little pieces, toss it in the pot, repeat. The smell of blood and fresh meat mixed with the delicious aromas of browning rabbit and sautéd squirrel is both vomit worthy and mouth watering. It is a strange combination but it smells like home for some reason. As I wield my knife I keep looking up, expecting to see Gale and my ears keep straining for the jokes he used to crack while we skinned and gutted our haul. It drives me to do the previously unthinkable act. I ask Sae for her opinion about boys. Love triangles in particular.

She looks up from stirring the pot and stares at me the shock evident on her worn and wrinkled face. "Forget it," I mutter and continue chopping rabbit. I sweep the pieces into her pot and rinse my fingers. Then I take up a squirrel and begin the process of making it ready for the next pot of stew.

"I'm afraid I can't help much," she answers without seeming to have heard me, "but if I were you, I would find that _cousin_ and get all those bottled up emotions out in the open. Don't let them fester. Hate is like trackerjacker venom: it causes hallucinations and it won't come out till you force it up with an antitoxin." I look back up with raised eyebrows. My knife-hand freezes mid slice. I never thought she would give me real advice.

"You know Gale—he is a man and men are the most infuriating creatures—but he loved Prim." A strange, longing look comes over her and I know she is thinking of Prim. Her scratchy voice is chocked when she speaks again, "When you were in the arena they were inseparable." The look leaves, but I see the tears glistening in her eyes. Her voice is stronger now as she remarks, "I bet you he's way out in 2 thinking he's doing you a favor by not coming to see you. If he'd stop and think for a moment he'd know he isn't, but you know what happens when a body starts thinking." She gives me a knowing look before turning back to her pot. I am not surprised that she knows about my nightmares. She was there when I first returned to 12, she knows how bad it was. I also wouldn't be surprised if she had her own night demons. Most Seamers do. It's hard to survive without them.

I turn back to my cutting and contemplate her words, I do know what happens when a person starts thinking: they can't stop. Then your days are as bad as your nights. I never knew, though, that he and Prim had grown so close. Neither told me. I suppose, though, that they saw no reason to remind me of the arena. I didn't ever bring it up, and so neither did they.

I spend the rest of my day with Sae and her granddaughter cooking, and then finally serving, dinner to the hungry, sweaty workers. As I pass around the bowls of steaming stew they laugh and joke, but it's all forced. I see the sadness that each has tried to burry. Watching them, the grave diggers and the rebuilders, I think that it is the cleaner-uppers who are the real heroes, not the ones who made the mess. We're too cowardly to face the dead.

I stand in grave silence, trying to be invisible but failing because anyone with a ladle is recognized as a Godsend and is lauded as one as well. Whether they are a war hero or an old woman. The men call for me to join them in their feast and so I do. The food is good and the liquor better. They remember somehow that I can sing and the drunkest ones beg for a tune. Thom remembers my distaste for performances from somewhere and he steps in and tell them to knock it off, but I brush his help off and take a shaky stand on the table. I'm feeling reckless tonight so why not sing? My mug of beer prompts my memory. And the song that pops into my head is one I learned in the Hob. It's a drinking song and well known. But not one I have ever sung myself. The tune is catchy and simple and the words are so ridiculous that you can't help but remember them, so I had and now they tumble out in a drunken rush.

 _O if I feel sick or pale,  
_ _What makes my eyes shine?  
_ _Some good October ale  
_ _And sweet blackcurrant wine.  
_ _I'd kill a dragon for half a flagon,  
_ _I'd wrestle a stoat to wet my throat,  
_ _I'd strangle a snake, all for the sake  
_ _Of lovely nutbrown beer….  
_ _Nuhuhuhut broooowwwwwwnnnnn beeeeheeeyer!_

There are cat calls and whistles and the men give the returning verse with gusto:

 _Fight a flagon an' drink a dragon,  
_ _Gizzard a lizard an' split his blizzard,  
_ _Ride a spider for good ol' cider,  
_ _Gooooood oooooold ciderrrrrrrrr!_

A silly smile spreads over my face and I drag up a tall lanky young man, who in my dizzy state I mistake for Gale. He's too far gone to notice that I call him by the wrong name and he readily joins his voice with mine as I call out the next verse, and my audience begins to keep time with their hands.

 _O if I have an achy head,  
_ _What tastes delish?  
_ _Damson cordial in a great big swish  
_ _And a bottle of whisky from Ned.  
_ _I'd wrestle a fish upon a dish,  
_ _N' cut off his head while he's in bed,  
_ _An' take a rat and make him dead,  
_ _For goooooood ooooooold aaaaaayyyyylee!_

As they call out the answering lines a few of the younger boys jump up on the table and begin to dance a jig. I join the fun with a:

Chop up a rook'n make a soup'  
 _Send him to bed wivout any bread,  
_ _Dip his tail in 'tober ale,  
_ _An' good ol' magpie pie!  
_ _All fooooorrrrr some strrrrrrooonnnnng whiiiiiiiteeeeee liquoooorrrr!_

I sing for them far into the night and I dance till I can't stand on my feet. But I have my first fun since the war. I don't know what time I return to the house, but it's late at night. When I wake in the morning Peeta is standing over me with consternation on his face. I have a pounding headache.

"Here," he mumbles, "Thom said you would need it."

Then he hands me a mug of some foul smelling tea and stalks away. I gulp down the brew, which tastes as bad as it smells, and go back to sleep. When I wake in the late afternoon Haymitch is the one above me. My head hurts less now, but it is still fuzzy. The light is too bright and I want to vomit. I do and feel immensely better after. Still Haymitch doesn't speak. It begins to get on my nerves and finally I explode.

"I don't want to talk to you!" I growl.

"I know you don't." He nods knowingly."You've found the magic of beer. D'you think you're going again tonight?" I stare at him. Then turn away. "I heard you loosened up quite a bit. Your songs are all they're talking about today. Sae says that half the male population's in love with you. Seems to think you'd be happy about that."

"Go away!" I snarl into my pillow. But I have no such luck. He stays right where he is and rolls me over. I don't have the wits to fight him.

"What happened? You were improving so much and then… Did you and Peeta have a fight? Is that why he won't talk to me about you?"

"It's been a day. Stop acting like it's been a month," I grumble as I try to pull my pillow over my head. He takes it from me and tosses it across the room.

"You've been out for two and half days Sweetheart. Thom brought you by in the early morning on Friday, it's Monday." He informs me.

"Thom?" I mumble.

"Yes Thom! Now tell me what's with you and Peeta?"

"Gale," I spit. "Now I've answered your question let me sleep!"

And to my surprise he does. For a moment after he leaves the room I consider getting up and retrieving my pillow, but in the end I figure it's not worth the hassle and I roll over and burry my face in my arms.

I sleep dreamlessly, and when I wake Buttercup is beside me. I fondle his aging head—something that three years ago I would never have dreamed of enjoying—because he is all I have left of Prim. He rubs his jaw against my hand and gives his rare throaty purr. I throw my legs over the side of the bed and step in the puddle of vomit. Grimacing I wipe my feet off and then change into some clean clothes. Then I mop up the mess with my shirt and throw it all in the laundry. I feel icky and so I draw a bath. There aren't any oils or scents in it like the one my mother drew for me before my prep-team arrived so long ago. Vaguely I wonder how they have fared with the new changes to their home.

I stay in the water till it cools and then I stay in the tub till it drains. I stand wearily and towel myself off. As I stare at my face in the mirror I see the scar across my cheek. Gale's scar. The one the Peacekeeper gave me when I put myself in front of the whiplash meant for Gale. I glance away but my gaze lands on my hands and the scar there too. In a furry I yank on my clothes and stomp out of the room. I meet Peeta in the hall and I ask him if there is any more of that stuff Thom had brought by. He nods and finds it. But he doesn't give it to me. He just stands there in front of me.

"Why did he bring you home?" He asks sharply. There is something in his eyes that I have rarely seen before, and always associated with Gale.

I blink, then begin to laugh hysterically. "You! You thought…." I double over. "You thought that there was…there was something between us?"

The idea is ridiculous, Peeta jealous? But this isn't funny so I force myself to stop laughing. I pull a straight face and answer his original question, "I don't know why he did. But it doesn't matter, the party was great."

Peeta scowls and shoves the tea leaves into my hands then he walks out the door. He doesn't come back till late, but I can't say I miss him. It feels wrong to admit that after all he has done for me, but it's true. After all I only miss him when my nightmares are bad.

That night I sleep alone.


	2. Chapter II

Chapter 2

In the morning I head out after breakfast to thank Thom for bringing me home. I wander from place to place looking for his broad back for a while before I find him in the Meadow. He is sitting on the bare dirt fiddling with a small patch of grass.

"I heard you brought me home that night. I wanted to thank you." I say, addressing his back. He turns and contemplates me for a moment.

"You're welcome. How's the head?"

"Fine." I assure him as I drop down beside him. We sit in silence, comfortable silence, not the awkward thing that hung between Peeta and I at breakfast this morning. An hour might have past like that, then he stands stiffly and offers me a hand up.  
"I'd best be going now. I've got work."

I nod my understanding and walk back to the Square with him. I spend the rest of my day in the forest, high, high in a tree. The sun is setting when I walk through the front door and plop myself down on a chair in the kitchen. Peeta is cooking.

"You're back." He states with his back to me.

"Yes." I say easily.

"I was beginning to wonder whether you were at the bar."

"There's a bar?" I ask innocently.

"Yes."

For the rest of the evening our conversation never exceeds sentences of more than fifteen words. I do the dishes and he disappears. If he is trying to make me worry he is failing. He can't hurt himself in 12. That night I sleep alone with Buttercup for company. The nightmares aren't that bad. Buttercup protects me.

In the morning I slip out and find my way to the forest, I check the snares and come up with a good haul. Most of it I give to Sae. The rest I drop off in our refrigerator box and find my way to the Meadow. I don't know why I go there. But when I find Thom siting alone I figure I had subconsciously wanted some human company.

I sit down beside him and stare down at the dirt. I am sitting on a grave. I am siting on the bones of my people. I shiver in the sunlight.

"Here," Thom offers, "take it, I'm not cold."

I take his jacket mutely and we sit in silence. An hour passes like that, then he stands stiffly and offers me a hand up.

"I'd best be going now. I've got work."

I nod my understanding and walk back to the Square with him. I return the jacket and spend the rest of my day in Town helping Greasy Sae. The sun is setting when I walk through the front door and plop myself down on a chair in the kitchen. Peeta is cooking.

"You're back." He states with his back to me.

"Yes." I say easily.

"I was beginning to wonder whether you were at the bar."

"You said that last night." I comment.

"I know. I was still wondering though."

"Well I was with Sae."

For the rest of the evening our conversation never exceeds sentences of more than fifteen words. I do the dishes and he disappears. That night I sleep alone with Buttercup for company again. The nightmares aren't that bad. Buttercup is there for me.

The next day is the replica of the last only Peeta isn't the one in the kitchen, Haymitch is. And he isn't cooking.

"Where's Peeta?" I ask him.

He shrugs. "Somewhere."

I nod, and try my hand at dinner. It has been years since I've used a stove of any kind so the result is not the best, but it is edible. We eat in silence. There isn't anything to say. Peeta is gone. He has finally decided to take some time for himself. I find myself tapping on the table with my fingers. Taping and waiting for the returning tattoo that Rory would always give when our families ate dinner together on the rare occasion. Tap…tap…tap tap…tap tap tap tap…tap…tap….

I wait for the answer but there is none. The Hawthornes are in 2. Or have they moved? I don't know. Tap…tap…tap tap…tap tap tap tap…tap…tap….

Tap…tap…tap tap…tap tap tap tap…tap…tap….

"Will you shut up?!" Haymitch suddenly snarls.

I look up. Tap…tap…tap tap…tap tap tap tap…tap…tap…. "Fine!" I stand up and slam my dishes into the sink with a satisfying clatter. I'll do something with those later. Then I stomp to my room and slam my door. Haymitch doesn't follow me. In my room I satisfy my anger by imagining how Haymitch would look wearing some silly Capitol fashioned clothes. That night Peeta doesn't come home and I sleep alone with Buttercup for company again. Not that I would have slept with him if he had been home. The nightmares are bearable. Buttercup is curled on my chest.

In the morning I find my way to the Meadow. Once again Thom siting alone and I sit down beside him and stare down at the dirt. Just like yesterday. But this time he speaks.

"Why do you come here everyday," Thom asks, "I know it isn't because you like my company."

"But I do," I contradict. "You don't demand anything from me. You're just…here. A sliver of home…the way it used to be." I continue staring at the dirt and to my surprise see a clump of grass that wasn't there before.

"When you leave," he asks, "what do you do each day?"

I shrug and answer, "It depends on the day. Yesterday I helped Sae."

"Do you have any friends?" He queries.

That makes me frown. Do I have any friends? There was once a time when I would have said, "Yes, of course I do!" But those friends were Gale and Madge and Cinna and Finnick and maybe even Johanna, but Gale isn't my friend any more, and Madge and Cinna and Finnick are dead. Johanna was more of an ally. Peeta was a friend I guess, but at the moment we aren't really speaking to each other. I don't even know where he is at the moment. _Greasy Sae_ , I guess, _is the only friend I have. And Thom._

"No, not really. They're all dead." _Or as good as dead,_ I finish in my head.

"Then I'll introduce you to my fiancé, Jenny." He stands eagerly and hauls me to my feet. And I bewilderedly follow him across the Meadow.

In what was once the Seam and is now a village of makeshift shacks, there is a large patch of ground which has been tilled and plowed. There are rows of corn and rows of tomatoes and rows of turnips and rows of anything and everything which will grow in District 12's contrary climate. District 11 had sent people out to help repopulate 12 and to teach us to farm. So far they have found us to be stubborn, strong, callused miners who know how do dig, but not how to cultivate. Still they have persevered and we have all eaten well.

It is here to The Garden, as it has been termed, that Thom takes me. "Jenny!" Thom calls once we are within the earshot of a young woman with a broad hat and olive toned skin. She is weeding out leaves of grass from among the rows of young plants. When we halt before her, the girl looks up, piercing me with her sparkling silver-gray gaze.

She isn't pretty, but then again, what with the stress and worry and scars after you've lived through a war, physical beauty is pretty much a lost cause. Besides, in the Seam there aren't many 'beauties.' We're survivors and starving coal-miners. We don't have time to worry about our faces after we leave school. "Thom! You're back early!" She cries, rising to her feet and embracing him warmly. He kisses her cheeks and forehead before holding her at arms-length and inspecting her.

"You've got dirt here, and here, and here!" He exclaims emphasizing each 'here' with a poke on the offending smudge. She laughs, a musical, lighthearted, giggle that gives me a sharp pang. The pure joy that they display hurts me. But somehow, I can't be jealous of the two. They deserve their happiness, I don't. As I watch the two lovers greet each other I wish my own romances had been so sweet and simple. Finally Jenny pushes Thom away with the words, "You brought a guest, introduce me please."

"Yes ma'am." He agrees with a grin. "Jenny, this is my friend Katniss. Katniss, this is my fiancé, Jenny."

"Hello Katniss, it's nice to meet you." She frowns, "I can't place your face, I don't think I have seen you around."

I nod, "You probably haven't, I usually keep to myself."

Thom looks from me to her and back again. "Jenny, I think you two can get along without me now, I need to be off! Goodby!" And with a doff of the cap on his dark head he is gone.

I turn to Jenny and give her a tentative smile, she answers it with a grin. Then she cocks her head. "Katniss…" she mutters, "Katniss…Katniss!" Her eyes light up, "Katniss Everdeen! You're the hunter! The one who was friends with Gale!"

I start. Of all the ways and reasons to have been recognized, being known as Gale's friend is the most unexpected and uncomfortable. "Yeah," I acknowledge, "I _was_ Gale's friend."

She frowns and then drops back to her knees and continues weeding. "I remember you from school now. You sat behind me in History class, I think. I always wanted to speak to you, just to let you know that I thought you were really brave to hunt, but you were always so… cold." She studies my face as she fingers her pile of weeds. "You still are. And then it was too late, you were a tribute and then The Mockingjay. Never again were you Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was her father's daughter."

For some reason, even though she has insulted me, I find myself liking this girl's company. I remember her now too. I remember the girl in History with the neatly brushed hair and the clean clothes. I had never known her name. Back then I had lumped her in with the other shallow girls, but now I get the idea that she is a true Seamer—stubborn, tough, strong, and loyal—she has the face of one. I kneel down with her and help her weed. Unlike almost all my other endeavors, I succeed. The knowledge of plants comes in handy now, and I make quick work of the inedible weeds. When we are finished, I offer to take her with me to the woods to check the snare-line. She declines with a laugh and explains that one visit to the woods is enough. She prefers to work in The Garden with the men. I tell her I understand and that she would have made the perfect miner's wife.

As I leave she calls out, "Come back tomorrow, I'll be waiting!"

"I'll be there!" I promise, and take to the woods.

My haul is small today but I don't have many mouths to feed. I skin and gut and drain the meat outside and feed the entrails to Buttercup then I find my way inside and wash up at the utility sink Peeta installed for the purpose. The sun is setting when I head to the kitchen.

I stare at the empty room and sigh, I'm tired of this silly disagreement with Peeta. I don't even know what we are in disagreement about! With intrepid determination I start dinner. In one cupboard below the counter I find a pan and in another, right above, I find the flour and salt. In a wide green bowl I mix the dry ingredients, then I melt butter _and_ oil in the pan—a luxury I never would have dreamed of before the Games—and while that simmered on low, I cut the two skinned and gutted rabbits in half and dredged them with the salted flour. Then I place the game in the skillet and watch them cook. Every few minutes I turn the meat, half expecting Peeta to walk through the door. This is my peace offering, dinner. But he doesn't come that evening so I forgo the gravy and eat it plain. I don't really mind and neither does Buttercup.

Once more I sleep alone. If I dream at all, I have forgotten by morning. Starting the day with full night of sleep is a strange sensation, but I like it.

I forgo breakfast and make my way to The Garden to find Jenny with her broad hat and laughing smile. She is in the kale and spinach section and she greets me with a cheerful, "There you are!"

I surprise myself by smiling and giving her a quick wave before settling down to work. We weed and hoe in the sun for a few hours. During that time I am caught up on all the news and invited to her wedding. I learn that the Mines are being shored up and the passages strengthened. "It is expected," Jenny remarks offhandedly, "that the men will return to their jobs in the fall."

I look up with a sharp gasp, "Thom is returning?"

"Of course!" She exclaims. "I'll be a miner's wife yet!"

"You're not afraid of the accidents?"

"Of course I am, but he's a miner, born and bred. I wouldn't take that away from him."

I nod and invite her to my place for dinner. She accepts and we walk arm in arm—how that happened I will never know—down the dirt street to the Victors Village. Together we laugh our way through making a meal and when I shut the door after her I shake my head. The house suddenly seems very empty. Buttercup rubs his head against my shins and gives me his rare purr… but a cat isn't human, and he's too small to fill the void that Jenny's absence has created.

Peeta doesn't come and Haymitch is drunk. The train came today while I was with Jenny so he has a store of liquor. I sleep alone again. But the nightmares that haunt me sap my little strength and in the morning I feel like a wraith. The moment I set one foot out of doors I am beset with the clamor of the geese. They squabble and honk and flap, and all in all, make it impossible for me to ignore them. When I open their pen they attack me with their wings as they all fight to be nearest me. They follow me with their eyes as I scoop out their feed from the bin and replenish their water supply. The moment I let them at their food they go crazy, as if they weren't already! I roll my eyes and shut the door.

I wander through 12, trying to find something to cheer myself up. I look for Jenny, but she isn't in her usual place—The Garden. Eventually I come back around to The Garden from the random places I had wandered and I wend my way to the place where my old house once stood. Now there is a ramshackle shack raised above it on its sturdy foundation. I frown as I try to remember what the house had once looked. I can't. I clench my jaw with anger and then knock on the door. After a few moments a head pokes out.

"What d'ya want?!" The old crone snaps.

I feel myself stiffen, I draw myself up and bite back, "I was wondering who lives here. I used to."

Apparently the remark has the desired effect, for the woman lifts her upper lip and snarls, "Just me'n my Jenny, though soon it'll just be me."

I raise my eyebrows. "Jenny?"

"Who's there Mama? I thought I—oh Katniss!" Jenny breaks off as she sees me. Before I can react she envelopes me in her arms. "I'm so sorry I didn't come this morning! Mama insisted I stay. I'm free now, shall we go?"

Then she bustles me away and it isn't till we are standing in the midst of the pea trellises, weeding, that she speaks.

"I'm sorry about Mama, ever since she learned that her family didn't survive the burning she has been a bit off. I have adopted her sorta, but I think she would really prefer to live alone. She is always talking of Thom and how quiet it will be when I'm married."

As I listen I am thinking. Of a sudden I make up my mind. "Then you'll live with me. The house is lonely without anyone but me and Buttercup."

She stares at me, in her hand is a clump of clover. "You aren't serious!" She declares and turns back to her work.

"But I am," I insist, grabbing her shoulder and spinning her around. "You. Are. Going. To. Live. With. Me."

"What about Peeta?" She asks weakly, but I have already won the argument.

"Who cares? He's moved out."

"Alright," she agrees brightly. "You can't imagine what a blessing that is. I don't know how much longer I could have stood living with her."

That afternoon we move all her belongings into my house, make up her room, agree on a cooking schedule and surprise Thom with the news. He takes it with a budding smile, but he gives me a thankful look.

That night I sleep alone, but the atmosphere around me is more homey. Buttercup is curled at my feet, Jenny is in the room across the way, and the moon is shining down on me. Everything seems to be looking up. I fall asleep to the sound of the crickets.


	3. Chapter III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the song, rights go to whoever wrote it originally back in the 1600s, this version I found on the website traditionalmusic.co.uk if the site disappears when I post the chapter, well I tried.

Chapter 3

**_Two years later:_ **

"I can't believe it's today!"

Those are the words I wake up to. I groan, and grumble, "Go way!" but Jenny doesn't leave. I open my eyes a sliver, then screw them tight again. My bedroom is too bright, but when I try to put my pillow over my face Jenny confiscates it. "None of that Katniss! Get up! We have to get the house ready! Come on!" She calls cheerily.

I roll over and try to burry my face in the mattress. _She can't confiscate that,_ I think. She doesn't, but she does open the curtains with a rustle and shove up the window.

"Get up lazy head! You promised!" She coaxes as she flits from place to place, taking my dress from the closet and finding my hairbrush in its place on the floor.

A nice breeze sweeps into the room and finishes the job of brining me fully to my senses. I sit up and stretch. "How are you so awake?" I ask, mid yawn, as I roll out of bed. She just twirls happily and gives me a face-splitting grin and tosses my hairbrush at me. With one last excited twirl she skips out of the room.

I shake my head and begin to brush my hair. When the last tangle is gone I stand up and yank my pajamas off. For a long moment I survey the dress Jenny set out. It is an olive green, not my favorite color but not ugly, with a streamlined appearance. It has an Empire waist—I think that is what Cinna had called it—and simple creamy embroidery. It reminds me of Cinna. It evokes memories that I don't want to relive. It makes me picture him as he looked when I first met him….

I shudder and pull it over my head quickly, only to realize that it has a zipper. I exasperatedly take it off and unzip it. Then I step into it and zip it back up. It fits as much as it can be expected to. At least it is designed to be loose.

I keep my hair down like Jenny had asked and go find her.

In the dinning room Jenny has placed bunches of wild primroses and the scent hits me the moment I enter. I feel like I am back in the woods with Gale, showing him the katniss tubers I was named after and telling him how good they taste if they are cooked _just so_. I remember him pointing out the yellow flowers and asking what they were called. I remember….

I snap myself away from Gale. That has how I have survived the last two years: forcefully blocking myself from all thoughts containing Gale. I open my eyes as Jenny calls, "Arrange those flowers will you?"

I think back to the lessons I had been given eight years ago. I don't let myself remember faces or names, just voices.

_"If you put this stem here… then see how it sets off this shorter one…"_

_"The soft yellow and light green are best seen with these… look, see how your little sister does it."_

_"Like this… look at Prim."_

_"Right here. Yes… no not like that… turn it—yes Prim!"_

I arrange the primroses as best I can around the room. Some I strew on the hardwood floor others I scatter by the hearth. A few I put in vases and jars and cups and place haphazardly around the room. The finished picture is one of chaos and beauty. If Peeta were here he could have made it more elegant, but he and I are not a thing anymore. We rarely speak, preferring to pass each other in cold silence. He had tried to come back once, but he had been gone a few days too many. I had found new friends and I no longer needed him. The fragile trust we had forged, had broken completely when he had accused me of cheating on him with Thom.

"Oh! It's lovely Katniss!" Jenny gushes, drawing me from my unpleasant memories. I smile at her and she hands me the breakfast sandwich she had prepared for me. I bite into it with relish. In my opinion it is better than even Peeta's cooking. Together we leave the house and make our way to the new courthouse.

When we arrive there is quite a crowd gathered and there is a resounding cheer. I find my place in the assembly and Jenny proudly strides up the lane, which parts for her, towards Thom. He greets her with a hug and the Mayor of District 12 begins the rite.

"Are all who are gathered here today witnesses to this union?"

"Yes," we answer.

"And will you hold this couple to their vows?"

"Yes we will," we promise.

Then, satisfied with us, he turns to Thom and Jenny. "Do you swear to leave your fathers' houses and hold fast to each other?"

"Yes," they vow.

"Though the waters rise up and cover the earth?"

"Yes, though the waters rise up and cover the earth," they vow.

"Though the mountains collapse and plague spreads across the land?"

"Yes, though the mountains collapse and plague spreads across the land."

Turning to Thom, the Mayor asks, "Though it would save your life to abandon this woman, would you, Thom, son of the Mines, be faithful to her?"

"Though it would save my life to abandon her, I, Thom, son of the Mines, would be faithful to her you idiot!" Thom growls with such obvious annoyance that laughter ripples through the gathering.

Then the man turns to Jenny and asks, "Though it would save your life to abandon this man, would you, Jane, daughter of the Seam, be faithful to him?"

"Though it would save my life to abandon Thom, I, Jane, daughter of the Seam, would be faithful to him!" Jenny sniffs.

"Well then," the Mayor says, all pretenses of ceremony gone, "I've got no reason not to let the two of ya sign the document. Get over here you, an' write yer names!" Once more laughter ripples through and I smile along with the rest.

The couple leans over and signs their names. Then with a shriek Jenny is scooped up by Thom and he barrels through the crowd, laughing. We follow cheerfully after and arrive shortly after them. I crowd in with the rest of the well-wishers and squeeze into my place next to Jenny. Thom is lighting the fire on the hearth and Jenny is holding the loaf of bread. She gives me a look and I press my lips together. I had promised.

Softly I begin to sing her favorite song.

_This I must say, dilly dilly, and it is true,  
_ _You must love me, dilly dilly, 'cause I love you.  
_ _Lavender's green, dilly dilly, Lavender's blue.  
_ _I'll be your queen, dilly dilly, when I wed you.  
_ _Send for your men, dilly dilly, set them to hoe,  
_ _Set them to reap, dilly dilly, set them to mow,  
_ _Some to cut hay, dilly dilly, some to cut corn,  
_ _While you and I, dilly dilly, keep ourselves warm._

As I reach the chorus the chatter of the guests has died away, all through the house was silence and outside even the birds were silent. My voice swells louder with the memory of my mother singing this old song when I was a child, before my father died in the explosion.

_Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, Lavender's green,  
_ _When you are King, dilly dilly, I'll be your Queen,  
_ _Who told me so, dilly dilly, how can I know,  
_ _I told myself so, dilly dilly, love told me so._

_When you're away, dilly dilly, work all day through,  
_ _I'll be at home, dilly dilly, waiting for you.  
_ _Lavender's green, dilly dilly, Lavender's blue.  
_ _I'll be your queen, dilly dilly, when I wed you.  
_ _While you're at work, dilly dilly, I'll brew your beer,  
_ _When you come home, dilly dilly, I'll be your dear,  
_ _I'll serve your meat, dilly dilly, I'll bake your bread,  
_ _I'll share your board, dilly dilly, I'll share your bed._

_Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, Lavender's green,  
_ _When you are King, dilly dilly, I'll be your Queen,  
_ _Who told me so, dilly dilly, how can I know,  
_ _I told myself so, dilly dilly, love told me so._

As I begin the third verse Jenny joins in with her rough and robust voice. Tears come into my eyes, this was my parents' story. This will be Jenny and Thom's story. This should have been my story. This should have been Prim's story. But it isn't. The wives in the room join their voices with us and we sing together. In the midst of the married women, I feel out of place. Mine is the only unmarried voice singing. But I had promised, so I don't stop.

_Wedding's for life, dilly dilly, love is to share,  
_ _And love must grow, dilly dilly, with joy and care.  
_ _Lavender's green, dilly dilly, Lavender's blue.  
_ _I'll be your queen, dilly dilly, when I wed you.  
_ _If you love me, dilly dilly, never to roam,  
_ _If I love you, dilly dilly, babies must come.  
_ _Pink for a girl, dilly dilly, blue for a boy,  
_ _Binding us close, dilly dilly, brining us joy._

_Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, Lavender's green,  
_ _When you are King, dilly dilly, I'll be your Queen,  
_ _Who told me so, dilly dilly, how can I know,  
_ _I told myself so, dilly dilly, love told me so._

As I start the last verse I remember suddenly what I am singing. I feel like Prim is singing with me, ordering me to live on and enjoy life.

_Close we will live, dilly dilly, and when we die,  
_ _Both in one grave, dilly dilly, close we will lie,  
_ _Lavender's green, dilly dilly, Lavender's blue.  
_ _I'll be your queen, dilly dilly, when I wed you._

But somehow her face and voice are replaced by Gale's and my voice breaks. Choking back my sob, I try to replace him with Prim and I succeed—for a time.

_If I die first, dilly dilly, and that may be,  
_ _You must live on, dilly dilly, thinking of me.  
_ _If you die first, dilly dilly, maybe you will,  
_ _I will live on, dilly dilly, loving you still._

Those last words though, I hear Gale sing, and I barely make it through the last chorus before I break down sobbing.

_Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, Lavender's green,  
_ _When you are King, dilly dilly, I'll be your Queen,_  
_Who told me so, dilly dilly, how can I know,  
_ _I told myself so, dilly dilly, love told me so._

Luckily for me, as the song ends the toast is done and cheers erupt all round. So by the time the noise has died away I have controlled myself and am as happy as Jenny could wish me. My red eyes can be blamed on happy tears or the smoky fire. The fire is indeed so smoky that we all move outside to eat.

It is a potluck dinner and the beer and ale and whisky are to be found aplenty. Someone takes out a fiddle and begins to play and soon all are dancing to the quick tune. We join a circle around the bride and groom, women on the inside, men on the outside, each moving in different directions. Sometimes our hands are linked, others we clap and hop, whirl and link ourselves together once more. The faster the fiddler fiddles the faster we jig, till all at once the music stops and we all deflate, panting and grinning.

Late into the night the merrymaking continues the dancers never seem to tire and the diners never seem to eat their fill. The singers exhaust every highland tune and folk-song. A great bonfire is lit and around it the old men sit with their ale and tell their tales to all who will listen. We teach District 11 how to party without wasting resources. We teach them how to dance and how to drink.

I sit with Jenny and Thom, listening to good wishes and congratulations. In the early morning the guests begin to leave. They clear away the mess and carry off those who are too drunk to make their own way home. By 4 a.m. we are alone, and the three of us, Jenny, Thom, and I, blearily find our way into our bedrooms.

In the morning, if 11 o'clock can be called morning, I find my way downstairs and I clear away the flowers and make some breakfast for myself. About an hour later Thom finds his way down and says as he is gulping down a cup of that horrid tea, "Don't ever drink more than a cup of beer at you Toasting Celebration. The hangover is horrible."

"I'll try to remember." I say dryly. _It's not like I'll ever have a Toasting Celebration anyway._ I say to myself.

A few minutes later I head into the woods to hunt, figuring it best to leave Jenny and Thom to their own devices today. My haul is good and the day beautiful. It is one of those rare times that I am truly happy. I can forget the outside world and pretend that Gale is home sick, that Prim is frisking with Lady, that the Games and the war never happened, that Peeta is still just the boy with the bread whom I owe. But these days never last and as I come out of the woods and into the Seam, I see Peeta.

I stop and stare. Peeta has a girl on his arm, a woman really, and he's looking at her like she's the best thing that ever happened to him. I stare at him for a moment and then continue on my way. Greasy Sae is glad to see me, or rather, my game, but she gives me a disappointed look as she examines the animals.

"The game was better when he was here. You're a fool not to reconcile with that _cousin_ of your's." She mutters just loud enough for me to catch.

I scowl and take my payment of stew. Some things never change, though it used to be that four plump rabbits earned me two bowls of the stuff. "Who's the girl, the one, she must be from 13, with Peeta?"

Sae looks up at me from behind her counter. "Welllll…."

"Sae?"

"From what I have learned," she sighs, "Carlie is, was, the cousin of the female tribute from 11. The one you sang for."

"Rue?"

"Some such name. Anyway, your boy has got tired of never knowing where you stand. I don't blame him. Rumor has it they're engaged."

I stare at her. "Engaged?" _The idea is incompatible in my mind. Peeta engaged? To a girl from 11, Rue's cousin no less? No, he loves me. He wants me._ "Imposable."

"Sorry dear," she sympathizes.

I shake my head. "No, it's fine. She's better for him. I'm glad he's found someone who can take care of him. He never had time for himself when he was with me."

Then I sprint out of the building and run all the way home. When I reach my room I lock the door and throw myself on my bed and weep. Tears roll down my cheeks; my chest heaves; my face is hot; sweat sticks may clothes to my back. Time loses meaning. Eventually I sleep.

When I wake the sun is on the other side of the house. My room is dim, the curtains still open from when Jenny woke me up yesterday. _Or was it two days ago? I wouldn't put it past me to sleep through the night and day._ I am drained emotionally and physically. Jenny knocks on my door but I don't answer. She knocks again.

"Go away!" I scream at the door, suddenly angry.

"Katniss?" Jenny calls, the worry laced in her voice is obvious. "Are you alright?"

I lift my head from my pillow and growl, "Go. Away."

There is a short pause. "Alright, Your dinner is outside the door."

She leaves. I don't eat that night. I fall asleep at sone point, but Buttercup isn't there with me.

For an entire week I mourn Peeta. Though if I am honest with myself, I am mourning losing his steady presence, not his love. Jenny and Thom are worried because I won't eat, but that is the way I am, I overreact and dramatize every little loss I sustain.

On the seventh day, however, I leave my room. When Jenny and Thom come into the kitchen I am cooking breakfast. Thom stares at me, but Jenny, who has grown accustomed to my strange mood swings in the past twenty-four months just gives me a glad hug and goes about her day as usual. I am officially back to normal. Or, rather the new Katniss' normal. I tidy the house, I cook meals twice a week, I tend the roses outside my window, I hunt once a week, I drop in on Haymitch, the list goes on… and on….

Two days after I 'resurrect', as Thom has nicknamed my return from exile, Thom and Jenny are preparing to go out for the evening. I am siting in the living-room watching Jenny braid her hair absentmindedly when Thom comes in.

"Katniss, you don't expect to go to the midsummers night dace in that do you?"

I look down on my faded denim pants, whose knees have seen better years and whose coloring might imitate a boy's face when he comes home from playing in the mud, and loose grey blouse, which hangs off my shoulders and puffs in all the wrong places. I shrug. "I'm not going to the dance, I don't see why—"

"What do you mean you're not? You are and that's final."

It was, and fifteen minutes later, in one of Cinna's elegant creations, I walk beside Thom and Jenny. I suppose the dance isn't that bad. Someone requests that I sing and I decline gracefully. I dance once with Jenny and once with Thom, but I spend most of my time watching the great bonfire, waiting for it to explode. It doesn't, but I don't trust fire anymore.

That night the dreams come back in full force.

_At first I am going about my day as I usually would. Then, suddenly, I am running, running towards the mines. I am screaming for my father to get out, to run. But the elevator never creaks up, it never moves an inch…_

_Then the mine explodes. Fire and smoke belch up from its depths, and I, I am thrown backward. I skid to a stop, my back screams in pain._ Then I am awake, panting and perspiring. Buttercup is mewing and prodding me with his claws. _Trying,_ I realize, _to free me from the nightmare._

I had never thought that my father's death would feature in my dreams again. I was wrong. He was back.

All the next day I dread the coming night, but it comes…and with it…the horrors of the first arena. Everything, and everyone is there. Each of the Tributes march by me. They shake their fists and spit. I relive the trackerjackers…and Rue's death…and Peeta's injury…and the girl with the knife…and Cato…and the muts—every bit of it. I wake up screaming silently into my pillow. Buttercup purrs me back to sleep. I do not dream again that night. In the morning Jenny notices my haggard face and squeezes my shoulder, she knows what is happening. All that day she is kind and understanding. In the evening Thom barely gives me a second glance, but I know that is because Jenny has warned him. I prolong sleep as long as I can, but it is inevitable.

That night I relive Gale's beating…

The next, the second arena and the jabberjays…

Then the desolation of 12 and the firebombing…

Then the war and everything I failed to prevent. The Hospital for one…

Next comes Peeta and he once more tries to choke the life out of me…

Prims death and the final Hunger Games in the Capital…

And, finally, me….

The dreams cycle through, a single horror a night. They never seem to end, and yet I always find myself back at the beginning of the sequence. Buttercup helps some, he sleeps beside me every night and leaves every morning, but he can't make up for the trembling thing that those dreams transform me into. The one dream that bothers me most, the one that causes me to become a sniveling puddle, isn't the one with Prim. It's the last one.

_I am standing below the sweeping branches of a large tree. When I examine it closer I realize that it is the one which overlooks the meeting place. And that's it. Just me and a tree in the early morning and a breeze in the upper branches._

It doesn't make any more sense to me than the nightmare I had of a pile of acorns and a squirrel when I was four. At least when I was four I was the acorns and I was being eaten by the squirrel, I had a reason—however outlandish—to be afraid. But my brain doesn't dictate what terrifies me, so I wake up at least once a month panting and perspiring, searching for a reassurance that is never there.

The dreams only get worse when Jenny gets pregnant. Now I am dreaming that her baby is somehow in my first Games and I have to place its corpse in Rue's dead arms. But I survive and I keep house and I cook meals for Jenny as her pregnancy progresses. I bring her little bouquets made of the flowers and leaves I find out in the woods. I hunt once a week, I drop in on Haymitch every other week and I patch Thom's worn-out clothes.

In early March jenny's baby is born, a small, curly-haired thing with a cherubic little smile. He has dark hair like both his parents and we all know he will have Seam-grey eyes. Thom hands me the little bundle and I sit down shakily.

"What is his name?" I ask softly.

Thom and Jenny share a look and Thom answers. "We were hoping that you would name him. We owe you so much—don't argue—and we would like you to give him a name. You will, after all, be his aunty."

The request takes my breath away and I stare down at the sleeping baby. A small voice whispers a name, but I drive the idea out, I will not name this child Gale. I look up at Jenny. "Thresh." I look up, "His name is Thresh."

Thom frowns as he tries to understand the reason behind my choice, but on the bed, Jenny smiles. She understands. "Thresh. It is a good name, a strong one. Thresh was a good man." She says and raises her arms for her son. I stand and reluctantly surrender Thresh to her.

"His middle name is Gale, he too was a good man." Thom announces.

She gives me a warning look and I press my lips together.

That night I find Buttercup's dead body on my bed. It is cold. If I have a guess, he died when Thresh was born. I burry him in the early dawn, beneath the evening-primrose bush, and then I go to town—for the Seam is now a town of sorts. A humungous medicine factory takes up most of what is left of the old town and it was erected in Prim's honor in the fall. It now produces medicine to be shipped to the other Districts. It is there, in the New Seam that I hear the cheers and see the crowd following a man with golden blond hair who is carrying a darkly complected woman through the streets, up to a shack that is adorned with wedding decorations. The man is Peeta and the woman, Carlie. He sees me and his face changes for a brief moment, but then I wave at him and shout my congratulations. Confusion flashes across his face, but I can tell that he is relieved. Even though I can genuinely say I am happy for him, Buttercup's death and Peeta's wedding are the last straws as far as sleep goes. I guess I had somehow been believing that his engagement was a joke, it wasn't.


	4. Chapter IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter! I hope you have enjoyed this story, if I have messed anything up don't hesitate to tell me in a comment.  
> A note on the song My Heart's in the Highlands, rights go to Robert Burns.  
> A note on the song Home on the Range, rights go to Brewster Higley.

Chapter 4 

Greasy Sae always gives me the _look_ whenever she sees me in the New Seam. Jenny has a second son whom Thom names Cooper. Thresh is a cute, tall, skinny one-year-old who follows me around wherever I go. Like the man his father named him for, he calls me Catnip. The first time I heard it a could barely keep myself from fleeing the room, but now the name barely startles me. Cooper too finds his place in my nightly demons but I bare it. That year Peeta and his wife have their first child, a daughter. If I heard correctly, her name is Rue.

Jenny has a third child, a girl this time, whom Jenny names Nora. Unlike his older brother, Cooper can pronounce my name. He, though, follows his mother like a shadow. Jenny and I joke that Nora will have to follow Thom into the mines. That year Peeta and his wife have another child, a son. His name is Finn. I think he's supposed to be named after Finnick Odair.

The next year, Thoren is born. He is identical to Thresh when he was a baby. I predict that like his four-year-old brother, he will be the heart-breaker of many a girl when he comes of age. For now, though, the two boys are perfectly happy with their mother, sister and aunty as the only women in their lives.

One night, after dinner, in the late fall, I am sitting on the big couch with my quilt-work in my lap. Thresh is playing on the floor with Cooper and Nora, Thom is sharpening my hunting knife, and Jenny sits in the big red easy chair with her needle and thread and quilt patches, rocking Thoren's cradle with her foot. The light is dim and the fire has burnt low on the hearth. The only sounds are those of the children's young voices, Thom's whetstone against my knife, Thoren's tired cries as he falls to sleep, and my humming.

"Sae is right, Katniss."Jenny remarks rather suddenly. "Hating him won't help you. It won't bring her back. Screaming at him, though, _will_ help. It might not bring her back, but it will help, I promise."

I must not look very convinced as I continue sewing the crazy-quilt patches together because Jenny continues, "Years ago, back when we were in school—I must have been thirteen then—Gale took my elder sister to the slag heap, they were drunk—I think she was the one to bribe Haymitch Abernathy. She got pregnant." Jenny's face hardens for a moment, "She was was sixteen. She lost the baby and her life in her third trimester. How I hated him! But after a while I took a friend's advice and gave him a very loud piece of my mind. Hit him around a bit. He took it in silence and the next day he sent Thom over with a message. It turned out that when he got sober the next morning he was as furious as I was at himself. He apologized quite handsomely, I still dislike him some—an apology can never make up for losing a sister—but I have forgiven him. Besides, I wouldn't have met Thom otherwise."

She doesn't say any more that night, but puts her children to sleep and washes the dinner dishes. The next day when I come home from the woods and find Posy Hawthorne siting in the hammock I convinced Thom to put up last year with Nora in her arms and Thresh standing several yards away, still unconvinced that this intruder was trustworthy, I stare and awkwardly greet her. She gives me a tentative smile in return. I enter the house and wash up at the utility sink. Jenny greets me with a smile.

"You know Posy?" She asks.

"Of course." I answer shortly. Ten years ago, fourteen years even, I would have given my life for the young woman outside. Now I am not so certain. It is her brother whom I hate, not her, but seeing her reminds me of the brother. The one I love. The one who, in a roundabout way, killed Prim.

That evening when Jenny announces at the dinner table that Posy will be staying in our guest room, I don't question how the decision got made. Jenny runs the house, not me. Posy gives me a worried look from across the table. She knows I wasn't informed of the decision beforehand. The look breaks my heart slightly, because she is afraid of me. Posy Hawthorne is _afraid_ to bring up anything associated with her brother, because she is afraid of what I might do. Jenny pretends to not notice her guest's uneasiness, Thom genuinely doesn't, and the kids are too young to see anything amiss. But I still shock all by saying, "Excellent! Posy when you have some time, tomorrow maybe, I want you to tell me all about 2. Every bit of it, like you used to tell me about your day at school when I visited your house when you were little."

She stares at me open-mouthed, but she answers eagerly, "Of course I will Katniss!"

After dinner she hugs me impulsively. "I've missed you so much. So, so much. You don't know how it is with only boys for company. Ten years…it's too long Katniss. I barely remember you."

I wrap my arms tenderly around her and we rock back and forth. "I've missed you too, Posy. Though to be honest, I didn't know it till I saw you." For a moment I hold her at arms length, "You've gotten so big. You're sixteen now, I've missed so much."

I crush her to my chest and we sob together. I take her up to her room a half-hour later, after the dishes are washed and put away and show her to her room. She beckons me in and we sit on the edge of her bed not really talking but also not doing anything else. She has changed into her pajamas and is brushing and re-brushing her waist length black tresses. Without a word I scoot closer and begin to braid her hair. It is something I used to do for Prim, something my mother did for me when I was little. I do it without thinking, and thus without memories. When I have finished I tie it off and admire my work. A simple dutch-braid splits her head in two and the raised portion shines in the lamplight. I smile sadly. _When did Posy become a woman? At what point did she stop being that small laughing child?_

Posy scoots back and wriggles under the covers. "If I am going to pretend to be a six-year old, then will you please sing me to sleep?"

The words are innocent enough, but the nervous glances, the fearful biting of her lip, betray her worry that I will be set off by the request. _She's only heard me sing on TV. Only during the Games and on the propos._ I nod my head. "Do you have a favorite?"

She grins suddenly, "My heart's in the Highlands," she replies. I nod. That had been Gale's favorite, he would often hum or whistle it or tease me into singing it with him. His voice would waft over the woods and mingle with mine till even with my sharp ears I could never tell where the divide was. He had rarely sung alone, always he had convinced me to join him, but it is not unbelievable that he had not sung at home to his sister.

The old words slip from my lips sweetly, memories of _Gale_ , the real Gale, the one from _before,_ burst upon me.

 _My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here.  
_ _My heart's in the Highlands, a'chasing the deer.  
_ _A'chasing the wild deer and following the roe,  
_ _My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go!_

 _Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North;  
_ _The birth place of valor, the country of worth.  
_ _Wherever I wander, wherever rove,  
_ _The hills of the Highlands forever I love!_

 _Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow;  
_ _Farewell to the straths and green valleys below.  
_ _Farewell to the forests and wild hanging woods;  
_ _Farewell to the torrents and fast pouring floods._

Posy's strong gusty voice joins mine and together we sing the last chorus:

 _My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here.  
_ _My heart's in the Highlands, a'chasing the deer.  
_ _A'chasing the wild deer and following the roe,  
_ _My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go!_

Then I press a kiss to her forehead and turn out the light. For a moment I stand by the door, not willing to leave but not willing to stay. "Goodnight," I whisper and step out into the hallway. That night is no exception from the dreams that haunt me. This night though the dream of the tree changes, it starts earlier…

_I run through the woods, towards the meeting place. Within me is a need, a compulsion to be somewhere. Then I burst onto the ledge and am standing below the sweeping branches of the large tree. And that's it. Just me and a tree in the early morning and a breeze in the upper branches. But then I fall to my knees weeping._

I wake up panting and perspiring, searching for a reassurance that I can not find in a dark—gloomy, shadowy, unforgiving—empty—vacant, uninhabited, deserted—room. I sob into my pillow. In the morning, I begin breakfast and set the table.

Thresh is the first to the kitchen, as he always is. He sits down in the middle of the floor and just watches me as I stir the oatmeal.

"Catnip," he says suddenly, "what is a bufflo?"

I start. "A what?"

"A bufflo."

"Wherever did you hear of such a thing?"

"Ms. Posy was singing yesterday about bufflo and deer and anteeop."

 _Buffo and anteeop?_ "Can you sing me the song?"

He scrunches up his face and looks down at his hands. Then he begins.

 _Oh, give I a home where the bufflo room,  
_ _Where the deer and the anteeop play,  
_ _Where seldom is heard a word,  
_ _And the skies are cloudy all day!_

 _Home, home on the range  
_ _Where the deer and the anteeoe play  
_ _Where seldom is heard a word  
_ _And the skies are cloudy all day…_

His loud voice trails off uncertainly. "I don't remember any more Catnip."

I nod my understanding to him.

"So what is a bufflo?"

"Buffalo," I correct.

"Buffalo," he agrees.

"Well a buffalo is a large animal, not may of them exist any more, it is larger than a cow, and shaggier. It is dark brown and has large horns. Like you!" I flash him a smile.

He nods. "But it eats grass. I don't."

I laugh and pick him up. I swing him around and around, this is how Posy find me, laughing and playing with my favorite nephew. She laughs at our antics and takes the burning oatmeal pot off the stove.

Soon everyone is gathered in the dining room, eating and joking. Thom has a day from the mines and after breakfast chores he plops down on the living-room carpet and his boys throw themselves at him. They have a romp for an hour or so while Posy and I cozy up in the hammock with Nora between us.

She tells me of life in 2. Her job was/is—I can't figure out whether she has come to stay in 12 or if she is just visiting—babysitting the children of the people who keep the country running. She describes Rory's enthusiasm in the medical field, and Vick's antics at the bars downtown.

"I can't believe Rory is 24, and Vick he's 21, right?"

"Yep. My bros are all grown up. Ma has her hands full with Vick, but… mom, well, mom doesn't stop worrying about _him._ "

"Why," I ask, unable to keep my lips from forming the word.

Posy looks up from Nora in shock.

"I thought you hated him!"

"I do." I shrug, "but years of having his back and knowing every thing about him—it's a hard habit to break."

She nods and studies Nora's dark, curly hair for a few minutes before saying suddenly, "He still loves you. There haven't been anymore girls." She looks up at me suddenly, "He denies it, claims he's to busy to care about the other sex, but the truth is: he's trying to work himself to the ground. He wants to die, but he's too proud to commit suicide." She begins to sob and I realize that she is still just a child. She may be the same age as I was when I entered the arena, but she is just a girl, terrified that her big brother will die. Nora begins to wail as well and I wrap the both of them in my arms and the hammock rocks precariously. Finally we calm Nora and the hammock slows to a gentle sway.

"He's supposed to be happy with his freedom, but he isn't." Posy whispers. I am about to answer, but Cooper and Thresh and Thoren come running telling us that lunch is ready and Jenny wants us.

We nod and stand up, moments later we are sitting around the great big oak table that Thom and I built Jenny as a birthday present. We eat tomato and spinach salad with squirrel jerky on the side.

After lunch I retire to the big couch and retrieve my quilt work. As I work I hum softly. Home On The Range is a song I have not thought of in years. My mother used to sing it while my father was hunting, she used to say that there had once been a time, before Panem existed, before everything, when men were free to go where they pleased when they pleased. There had been hunting for all and joy and peace had been the bywords of every town. Without realizing it the words spill out.

 _Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam,  
_ _Where the deer and the antelope play,  
_ _Where seldom is heard a discouraging word  
_ _And the skies are not cloudy all day._

 _Home, home on the range,  
_ _Where the deer and the antelope play,  
_ _Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,  
_ _And the skies are not cloudy all day!_

 _The red man was pressed from this part of the west,  
_ _It's not likely he'll ever return  
_ _To the banks of Red River where seldom if ever  
_ _His flickering campfires still burn._

 _Home, home on the range,  
_ _Where the deer and the antelope play,  
_ _Where seldom is heard a discouraging word  
_ _And the skies are not cloudy all day._

 _How often at night when the heavens are bright,  
_ _I see the light of those flickering stars,  
_ _Have I laid there amazed and asked as I gazed  
_ _If their glory exceeds that of love?_

 _Home, home on the range,  
_ _Where the deer and the antelope play,_  
 _Where seldom is heard a discouraging word  
_ _And the skies are not cloudy all day!_

Often I had wondered as a child who the singer was and who the red men were. I had pitied the red men who had been driven out, because I had understood the feeling, my father and I were driven out of the forest and we only returned in secret. The idea of watching the stars had appealed to my child self and I had asked my fathers permission to sleep outside. His answer was a laugh and the words, "You can't see the stars from the Seam, Katniss. It's too cloudy, but out in the woods, if you go far enough… you can see them in all their glory."

The evening drew closer and I was told that there was a picnic dinner outside, but I wasn't hungry. I continued sewing steadily muttering at the pieces of cloth if they did not fit together as they should. It was dark out when Posy crept in and seated herself on the floor at my feet. The children were in bed and Thom and Jenny were out in the hammock together.

We sit in silence. I don't know what to say to Posy, so I just sit and wait for her to begin.

Finally she does.

"Sometimes I have to laugh. The idea of Gale trying to kill himself with too many stupid meetings and piles of paperwork is incompatible to me. It is so… wrong… the idea… is just strange. He's Gale." Finally she looks up at me, and she seems to be trying to search the depths of my soul. But Gale was the only one who could ever do that.

"The only thing he ever really wanted was to give you a place where you could smile all day long, a place where you could live where and how you wanted without the law coming after you, a place where you wouldn't be afraid to have children, a place where you could hunt as much as you wanted. He fought the war for you. But he didn't do a good job of telling you that."

"No he didn't," I agree.

Posy takes a breath. "Mom sent me out here to invite you to 2."

I open my mouth to give every reason why that would be a bad idea.

"She said to tell you that if you won't, she will come and drag you back by the ear and force you to make up with Gale. Like you were kids! She doesn't understand—"

"She does, Posy." I laugh suddenly. "I miss her. Hazel was always like my second mother."

Posy looks uncertainly at me and then excuses herself to bed, leaving me to my thoughts.

Sae's words about hate being like tracker jacker venom come back to me. I remember my hallucinations and I wonder what could possibly relate the two. Then Jenny's story plays over in my head. I'm not the first girl to have lost a sister because of him. But Jenny somehow forgave him. Somehow. _It was probably her forgiving nature. That woman never seems to be able to hold a grudge. It is incomprehensible._

I hate Gale.

I love Gale.

The two opposing emotions are equal. If emotions were something else, food, perhaps, and I was a starving stomach, then I would be satisfied for the time being. I would not be starving nor would I be healthy, but I would be full—I would be indifferent at the moment to my stomach.

But… emotions are emotions and I am not indifferent to him, no mater how much I want to be.

"Do you mind if I interrupt?"

I glance up at Thom who stands in the doorway.

"No," I assure him.

He smiles. "Then go find Jenny, she's in our room. I think she wants to speak with you."

I let a puff of air out of my nose. There can be only one thing she wants to speak to me about that is important enough to send Thom out to get me.

My complicated love-life.

Resigned, I put away my handwork and trudge to her room. For a moment I stand outside her door before I gather my scattered wits and turn the doorknob.

Jenny is lounging on the bed, one hand resting on the quilted coverlet. She smiles up at me sweetly. "There you are! I couldn't help over hearing what you and Posy were talking about when I came in from the hammock."

She waves a hand for me to sit and I curl up at the foot of the bed. She takes in a breath and I brace for one of her long lectures, which had, to my great relief, in the years after her marriage become less and less frequent occurrences.

"I didn't know you or Gale during the war. I didn't even know you or your sister before it. But I know you now, Katniss and I know this: in some stubborn, Seam way you love him."

I open my mouth to argue, to scream, to list every reason I hate him. But she silences me with a look.

"Don't deny it. If it had been a faceless Capitol soldier who had killed your sister, even if it had been Snow himself, you wouldn't have become the wraith that you are now. And that wouldn't have been because Gale would have been there to help you through it."

I deflate. I can't deny it and she knows it, so I burrow deeper into the quilt.

"You loved Peeta because he was familiar and it was expected of you; it made you feel better if you gave him what he craved. But that isn't real love, you know that Katniss."

_How in the world did I let Jenny know me this well? Why did I ever think it would be a good idea for her to live with me?_

"Gale though is a whole different story. He was your brother, your protector, your friend, and then he became something more, something undefinable. He—and all I know I know from Thom—"

_The traitor! You had no right Thom!_

"—he was the only one you never owed, in my husband's words, 'He was her other half,' you fit together seamlessly. Your selflessness and desperation drew you together. You understood each other. You both gave to the relationship. According to Thom you fought and made up constantly."

"We only made up because we needed each other. We were hunting partners." I interrupt and I would have continued and hopefully ended the whole ordeal but Thom interrupts.

"I disagree." A low voice from the door catches my attention. I scowl at him, but he knows that he is safe from my furry while his is in his wife's presence. For the next week he will shadow her and eventually I will let him go. It has happened before. "You didn't need each other, yes you helped one another, but you didn't need each other. If all you had had was a working partnership you wouldn't have been joined at the hip and all of District 12 would not have placed bets on when he would propose."

I sit up like I had been burned. "What do you mean everyone—never mind. We weren't 'joined at the hip'," I look between my two tormentors. They aren't convinced, if anything they are amused. "He loved the slag heap and the ally behind the school. Remember?" It is a long shot, but maybe it will convince them that there never was anything between us. _Yeah Gale liked me, loved me even, but I_ never _returned it. Once or twice I tricked myself into thinking that I had but—_

"Yes I do," Thom answered. "He went off and on for three years. He, like most of the boys ages fourteen to seventeen enjoyed sneaking kisses. That changed. You know that."

Unfortunately I did. All Thom had said was true. Except the 'joined at the hip' part. _In fact Jenny and Sae were right. Screaming at Gale would be really great. Like really, really great. A decade was a long time to go without him. I still hate him, but that's not going to do me any good if I'm sitting and hating him all the way out in 12 without being able to tell him so._

_The phone is out of the question. In the morning I will tell Posy that I'll come back with her._

I deflate visibly and Jenny reaches over and hugs me tight. "It's not that bad Katniss. Just remember it could have been a whole lot worse."

I pinch her arm but I agree, she _had_ gone easy on my. She had won of course, I had as good as admitted to her that I love Gale, but… I find, to my surprise, I don't mind.

Already, as I am giving my goodnights to Jenny and Thom, I am planing the speech I will give him when I see him.

It will be short and biting, pushing at all his tender places, the places that only I know. Then I will draw a knife, and we'll fight it out and only one of us will survive. Gale, if he has kept in shape, but me, if I can go in quick…

Oh, it will be so good to see him in action; feel his anger; hear his arguments; hit him; hurt him….

Oh that anger, what a spar that will be.

I hate him. He killed her. For that he must die. Blood for blood.

I love him. He cared for her, kept her alive when I couldn't. For that… I don't owe him. I have never owed him. I never will.

My spark of anger is burning out.

If I am honest, I will probably throw myself at him when I see him. I have missed him…

...a decade is too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a small chance I will write a sequel. I will not promise though. I still don't like HG and I have absolutely no idea how to handle District 2.


End file.
